


Suffocate

by dharma22



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, Angst and Porn, F/M, Lube, Makeup Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, health potion lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 06:40:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3519206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dharma22/pseuds/dharma22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I need you. Do you need me?" he whispers, voice trembling.<br/>"Yeah."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suffocate

**Author's Note:**

> Thought it was too long for my other work.  
> Decided to put it here.  
> Lords and Ladies of Smut, please guide me as I travel down this terrifying road.

Hawke did not consider herself to be exceedingly patient. She could not stand for things, however diminutive or large, to be drawn out to depths her feet could not touch. Often would her temper flare at the smallest of things - an extended wait for a drink at the Hanged Man, Ser Loaf taking ages to settle on a spot to piss and shit. 

She had no mind for his  _stupid_  manifesto anymore. In the beginning, she praised him quite lavishly for even conjuring up the insane idea to put quill to parchment and state the true position of mages and magic. Every night as he sat to add upon the previous evening's work, that sweet tongue of hers would be there at his cock, swirling around him until it was all he could do to exhale a blessing to the Maker and clutch at Hawke's dark locks as he released all the stress and tension into her mouth. That was how things were in the beginning.

Now, Anders was a rare sight, his affection even rarer. He was not the same man that came to her all those years ago, begging and pleading that she let him bestow upon her a love so beautiful that even Andraste or the Templars could not rip it to shreds. It was not the Templars that ruined this, it was his devotion - his thirst for justice in a world near empty of it.

But she loved him still. How could she not? He fought a war he had no chance of winning, yet he continued on with all the will in the world. His devotion did not lie with her, and that hurt more than any blade, but she believed in him and believed that one day he might return to her. 

She could not withstand much more, though. He had not been there after Mother's death, rather he used it as fuel and found an example in it. No doubt Quentin's name would weasel into the pages of his manifesto.

_Another evening alone and you'll go insane,_ she told herself. She never allowed there to be any truth in that statement, for she sought out company.

                                                                                                                         ------

Corff had been quick with the drinks that night, Hawke quite thankful for his blessed speed that evening.

Varric sat opposite to her, lips moving to inform Merrill of something. She had not a clue what, though. Hawke was lost in her own problems. Only the nudge at her side could manage to pluck her from the swell of painful thoughts. "Marian?" Aveline questioned, her copper brows drawn in worry.

Hawke's posture straightened as she emerged into the light of reality, eyes widening as she took to assessing the situation. "Aveline," she responded, reaching for her ale, "You called?"

Varric frowned. "Yeah. That she did. That we  _all_ did." he spoke, his voice thick with worry. He saw right through her snide remarks and laughter. Always was he there - a confidant and partner she would never trade the world for. But even he could not mend this, not unless he could yank Anders from his pursuit.

"I didn't. I don't think. Did I?" Merrill wondered aloud.

Aveline assured her she did no such things and Hawke was left alone again with her thoughts, only occasionally receiving a look of worry . She was silent for the conflict they'd all attempted to resolve, but it was quite evident that there would be no end in sight for some time.  On several occasions had attempts been made to staunch the never-ending flood of pain, but each one ended in what seemed like more agony than had started out.  _  
_

There was nothing anyone could but offer steel words. Hawke was not a weak little flower to wilt beneath the weight of this. She would suffer, yes, but she required no soft words or shoulders to cry on. If she desired a cry, she could scream and throw things in that mansion of hers, away from the eyes of those she loved. 

The evening went on without any further incursions, Hawke left to brood in silence, though several remarks were made about Fenris being either put to shame or proud by how intense her brooding was. By midnight, all that remained was her and Varric. Both sipped on their drinks in silence, their glances often shared. 

"What are you going to do, Hawke?" he finally asked. His voice was quite welcome in the cold silence of an empty tavern. 

He knew her too well, she decided. Perhaps they all did, her companions. In her silence, Hawke thought of ways to revive Anders from his current state. Dead to her, but alive to his cause. She damned Varric. "I don't know," she sighed, leaning back in her chair, "you interrupted me before anything good came to mind."

"Well then, I'm sorry." Varric chuckled. "Are you open to suggestions? 'Cause I've got quite a few."

Hawke offered him a small smile. She was certain a few of those suggestions consisted of hitting or screaming at Anders until he had no choice but to give in. There would be nothing new among his plans. "I'm listening."

Varric cleared his throat, his flagon being retired to the table. "Talk to him. Make him listen." he said, the look in his eyes hinting at more than just those simple words.

She scoffed. "But I  _can't!_ Don't you think I've tried? He wo-"

" _Make him._ " Varric's tone was unrelenting and firm. She sensed that the truth behind his words was beginning to seep forth. "Blondie's made you suffer. A lot. The shit you've gone through just trying to get him  _home?_ Forget about it. Remind him of this. Make him see it."

Hawke narrowed her eyes. "I don't matter enough to hurt him." she spit and it was the cold belief in those words that made Varric's heart ache. She honestly believed she had no worth to Blondie and deep down, Varric feared it as well. But agreeing with her would do nothing. 

"So you're going to let a lunatic mage knock you down? You, who killed the arishok in hand-to-hand combat? You, who killed a  _dragon?_ " Varric scoffed, "I thought you had more in you."

_Me too,_ she thought. Her endurance, patience could only be tried for so long before it thinned out. But she always had her pride to fall back on. In the face of all else, it sneered protest in the face of doubt and drove her on. "Give me your knife." she commanded, bearing her palm to him in expectancy.

Even with a marvel such as Bianca on his back, Varric still carried about small, hidden blade in his boot - a spot favoured by Isabela. He yanked it from his boot, hesitance plaguing his movements as he offered her the blade. "Why? What are you gonna do?" he questioned.

She snatched it from him, the dull edge of the blade being drawn across her pale palm and all the way up to her elbow in one quick, fluid movement. Varric's chair flew out from beneath him as he cursed, stunted legs carrying him to her side in seconds. "What the hell, Hawke!" he exclaimed, cradling her hand, "Didn't that hurt?"

"Of course it did, Varric. But I had to. Now he has to pay me attention." 

He grew quiet with her explanation ringing in his ears. "Okay." Varric mumbled, releasing her hand. Blood stained his sleeve and pooled at the floor.  _Pitiful,_  he thought. Blondie had pushed her to the razor sharp edge of a cliff with nothing but the chilling mouth of darkness to greet her. No longer did Varric believe she strove towards Anders for the sake of him, but rather herself.

Without Blondie, would she shatter? Would her pieces be as fine as powder? Hawke was too strong to be brought down by the likes of Blondie.

"End it." was his final piece of advice. And Hawke nodded.

                                                                                                                       ------

Below the streets of Kirkwall's prestigious Hightown sat the floor of Darktown. True to its name, shadows always lingered in the sect, no matter if the sun hung high. Most considered it to be a cesspool of everything foul and rotten and steered clear of everything including the mention of it. But Hawke did not mind it - in fact, she quite enjoyed Darktown.

It was always quiet, a place for one to wander and let thoughts bloom into more. Hawke considered it to be a sort of haven within the hell of Kirkwall - a cool breath of water upon parched lips. Hightown was for the cocky and rich without a care in the world for the people they crushed. Lowtown was rife with vermin out to prove their worth, no matter the means. Here, Darktown, was where the desperate and broken dwelt.

She knew that suffering was a thing to fester in the eeriness of silence.

Tonight. though, there rested no pleasure in the sect. Empty pathways pocked with the occasional beggar, the distant howl of a winter wind through holes, shadows too long to be cast in places with no flame . . .

Hawke's pace was brisk, the throbbing in her arm a welcomed distraction from her surroundings. But with the distraction of her cut came the pain. It was deep, deeper than she'd imagined, and she cursed herself for it. The scent of blood stung in her nostrils.

Another alleyway and she would be there at his door. Dread knotted away at her insides.

The clinic was as she remembered it - desolate and small, cooled by the open wall beside it. Over the doorway hung a lantern, its flame weak and dwindling, but there nonetheless. Hawke was certain it was  _always_ burning. Anders might have been inflamed with devotion and love for his dream, but never was he one to turn away the needs of the broken. That she was certain of.

That she loved him for.

With the inhale of a deep, shaky breath, Hawke pushed open the clinic door, its hinges moaning with the rust of age. As expected, the clinic lie empty, not a single clot dressed. It seemed his clinic, always so warm and inviting, despite the suffering within, had taken up with the new central theme of Darktown. 

"Anders?" she called, voice skimming the walls and thrown back into her ears. 

Nothing. 

She walked the hall with caution, the compacted earth littered with bumps and dips of all sorts. Several times did her feet take an unexpected plunge, balance and grace fleeing from her as quick as a leopard. Gasping and cursing, she made her way to the opposite end. "Anders!" Hawke shouted. 

Where the  _fuck_  was he? Nowhere near the estate.

"Marian?"

Hawke whirled to face the voice, her eyes widening as she too him in. "Anders." she breathed, his name still a plea to reveal himself.

It was him. But he was different. Even through the bulk of his robes, he was thin, thinner than before. Bruises of a whole selection of colours had blossomed beneath the whiskey of his eyes, that very darkness traveling into the hollows below his prominent cheekbones. Stubble various shades darker than the hair in his ponytail prickle his chin. 

He looked alien,  _exhausted._ It tore her apart.

"What are y-" he began, but stopped himself as he noticed something else, "By the Maker! Hawke, what happened? Are you alright?"

Anders closed the space between them with a single step, his deft, gentle fingers at her cut. She winced at the touch. It was still bleeding. 

"I uh, got into a fight." she said.

Hawke hissed as he poked and prodded. "Fuckin' . . . Stop!"

But Anders showed no signs of halting. In fact, he managed to move her to a nearby cot to further his work. She watched him with great longing as he worked and took note of every little detail. The way his brow creased only slightly as he assessed the true damage. The way his lips moved to form silent words of healing. The way his fingers brushed her skin with all the grace and care in the world. She prayed to the Maker that this be his passion too. 

_Do not curse him with ambition of impossible feats,_ she begged.  _This he can do and do it well._

While Anders had his bowed and focus elsewhere, Hawke allowed herself the gathering of tears. Oh, how she wanted to touch him - to hold his head to her breast and whisper to him her love. In return, she wanted kisses and heart-breaking pleas for forgiveness. 

"Stay there. I'll be right back." Anders said, words slicing through her visions of hope. He retreated back through the door he emerged from, the sound of jostled bottles ringing in her ears. He returned a moment later with a simple piece of cloth and the thin bottle of a health potion. "Here we are," Anders said, kneeling at her side again.

He dabbed at the cut, the dry fabric burning to the touch. But that was a small pain compared to all else. Soon, his work with her would be finished and he would have no reason to pay her attention.

It  _hurt_ like hell that he not a word to say to her besides the typical expert opinion and rules to follow. Breathing was a difficult task when the pain was so intense. A single tear spilled and fell unto his work.

Anders stopped and before she knew it, he was looking right at her.  _Truly_ at her. "Hawke . . . " he began, but never finished, for she pressed her lips to his.

She tasted of salt, of tears and of agony. Not for him, never for him, but because of him.

"How  _could_ you?" she whispered against his lips.

Often times did he question that himself. When day bled into night and the demons of the world gnawed at him, he would lie feverish between the sheets and ask himself over and over how. No answer he had ever breathed was right. When the space beside him lie cold and empty, he would take him cock in his hand and beat the pain of the lost into his body and heart. 

He was silent for too long, his throat too tight to manage any words. Hawke made a sound he'd never heard - something between a sob and a chuckle, he thought. Just before he could say anything, she threw him back, the breath torn from his lungs. She made short work of the lacing of his trousers, her fingers retrieving from the cloth his cock.

Anders gasped as she took him into her mouth, the warmth of it consuming him. He hardened quickly as her tongue stroked him, her movements ruthless. The mage threw his head back as a moan crawled its way forth from his throat, his hand pushing her head further in between his thighs. Tears of his own pooled within his eyes. "I never meant to . . . Hurt you." Anders said, his voice a harsh rasp.

Hawke's mouth no longer enveloped his length, instead her hand taking to it. She looked up at him, cheeks flushed and lined with the path of tears. "Did you even think of me? Do you miss me?" she asked, shakily.

_More than you could ever know._

But she gave him no chance, her treatment of him much like that of a foe. Already was she stripping off her own clothes, every article disposed of until not a thread adorned her body. He took in the sight with hungry eyes. The swell to her creamy breasts was delicate, as was the curve of her stomach. Nipples the shade of a blush stood erect with the cold of the room. All over was her body marked with the remains of angry blades and wicked spells, Anders fond of them all. He had treated nearly everyone of them.

He was the one responsible for her living at this very moment. Hawke found herself faced with battles more ferocious than a dragon constantly. Logic commanded that her wounds be that of a rival. Anders had woven together her skin and muscles thousands of times.

Yet he was the one who ripped her heart to shreds.

"I loved you, Anders!" she wept, yanking the cork from the health potion. Hawke dowsed his throbbing cock with the liquid, gooseflesh prickling at his skin as the cold fluid coated him. She near emptied the bottle, saving the last few drops for herself and then progressing to the disposal of the bottle. She threw it at the wall, the glass shattering and flying off into various directions.

_I've always loved you._

The potion caused his cock to tingle.

Hawke positioned her hips just above him, her hand running his tip along her dripping slit. "And you just . . . Left. I need you, Anders." she continued, back straightening as she slid down on him.

Her heat was so difficult to push through, her sex too taut with misuse. It had been almost a year since he'd last joined with her. But Hawke would not stand for. She was deprived, alone, angry and confused. Everything she had forced her to swallow him whole. The burn was  _incredible._ She swore that his thickness had torn her and she wanted more.

So much more.

Anders groaned as he hilted in her, her warmth, her tension . . . He thought to lose himself. His body was alive with pleasure, every nerve tingling with the vibrancy of stimuli. All the control in the world could not restrain him from giving her a welcoming thrust. She gasped.

When he opened his eyes, he saw her face transfixed in the mask of bliss. She was so beautiful.

"I've wanted this," she panted.

With that, she began to move up and down the length of him, her body making a pattern out of tightening around him and relaxing. It was maddening. Anders held her hips with great force, his guidance keeping her pace. Without it, he was certain she would falter and collapse. "I've needed this. I've needed you, Hawke." he told her.

She cried out as he hit something sweet. "Then  _why?_ Look at what you've done!" Hawke whimpered.

He saw all too well. As if to fix it, he pounded into her with all his force and will, Hawke bouncing atop him. "I can fix this." Anders said.

She shook her head.

Growling, he threw her back unto the cot. Sweat adhered strands of hair to his fact. " _Yes I can_." he rumbled. He threw her leg over his shoulder, the other wound tightly around his hip. The feathers of his pauldron tickled the crook behind her kneecap.  _  
_

"I'm so sorry, Hawke." he cried.

_But I had to. If not I, then who can save us? They need me._

_Not anymore than I need you._

Anders was feral in his breeding, his hips driving forward a force so severe that every so pumps she would have the wind knocked from her. Inside, she tingled with the film of potion. It was euphoric in a way few things were. Nothing compared to it. Anders smothered a cry of hers with one of his passionate kisses she thought long lost to time. His tongue worked wonders. Together they whirled about until Hawke yanked her head back at the brush of his fingertips over her pearl.

He chuckled. "I can fix this. You." he spoke, words buried in her breast. _  
_

_But not me._

Anders swirled his fingers 'round and 'round about that petite bundle of nerves, her hole twitching as he drove her closer. In the pit of her stomach boiled a climax and she wanted it now.

"Fuck." she gasped, her nails digging into the fabric of his coat. 

The mage could feel himself nearing the edge, the ground beneath him willing to give out any second and dump him into a never-ending chasm of changing light. But he would outlast her. His movement at her clit became savage and desperate, Hawke's muscles unsure how to react. When he thought all hope lost, she cried out his name, her back arching off the cot. All around him, her muscles convulsed, coaxing from him the sweet heat of his love. 

It did more than that. It tore from him a gasp and groan as he released all his stress and tension into her. Hawke responded with a virginal orison for more. As they both rode out the last waves of their climax, Anders still gently moving within her, Hawke kissed him. Anders smiled.

He had softened now, his retraction final. She shivered as he exited, leaving her void of bulk, but warm with seed. Anders slipped a single digit into her sore hole. 

"I love you." Hawke said, stroking his cheek. Anders coated her lips with the arousal between her thighs, the taste of her to soon set his tongue ablaze. It was a revival to taste her again. From her lips, he drank her essence and proclaimed his love. When he pulled back, he noticed the glint of tears in her eyes.

"Come back with me." she whispered.

His eyes felt heavy with the lids. He nuzzled up into her soft cheek and breathed her in. She smelt of sweat and sex and magnolias. "I need you. Do you need me?" she continued. 

The hand that caressed his stubble was bestowed a kiss.

_Yes. Yes, I need you._

_\------_

Hawke gazed at what remained in horror.

No, perhaps not horror. 

Maybe it was wonder with a hint of horror.

It felt like the world was screaming in her ear.  _Decide, decide, decide, DECIDE!_

But how? How the fuck was she to make any sense of the world when chaos was as customary as breathing? Sense rests with order and chaos was quite lacking. 

A hand brushed her own.

"I had to." Anders whispered, "You know that. No one  _listened._ They never will." 

He had to do many things, she realized. And many things alone. She felt used and sore - a toy of his to fuck and use when the path was not clear. Had she ever mattered? Was this love of his a plan from the beginning as means to an end? She swallowed.

"Yeah?" she asked.

Anders squeezed her hand. "I love you, Hawke. So. Fucking. Much. You know that, right?" he asked.

She remained silent. 

"I need you. Do you need me?" he whispered, voice trembling.

"Yeah."


End file.
